


For Keeps

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Minor canon divergence, Post-Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Dean would talk when Dean was ready; anything Sam said—It’s okay, Dean. You weren’t you. I forgive you.—just risked running him off.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	For Keeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilovejared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovejared/gifts).



> For 12 Days of Wincestmas 2020. (Originally shared over three days. Masterpost [here](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/190206633565/wincestmas-masterlist).)

_“And then, I’m gonna get drunk.” -Sam, Soul Survivor_

\---------

Sam leaned back in his library chair, sipped on a crystal glass of good whiskey. On the rocks. Bourbon—sour, sharp, and sweet. He swirled. Ice clinked and the water spiraled into little tongues and sank. Heat stung his nose, curled in his stomach, slowly spread to tingling limbs. Sam rolled his newly mended shoulder. Eyes slid closed and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to Cas.

_Thunk._

Sound of an empty glass against the hardwood.

Sam smelled Dean. _Dean_. Fresh-showered, sulfur-free. Suave Men shampoo and dollar store dryer sheets.

“You in the mood for company?”

Sam kicked the chair across from him, offered his brother a seat.

Dean poured a double, neat. Downed half in one go and corked the decanter.

Silence, other than Sam’s ice, the Bunker’s HVAC. Dean would talk when Dean was ready; anything Sam said—

_It’s okay, Dean. You weren’t you. I forgive you._

—just risked running him off.

Sam’s glass ran dry.

Dean swooped in, poured him a refill. Paused. Held up the decanter and studied the cut crystal.

“Y’know…” He licked his lips. “Sometimes I miss drinkin’ Rebel Yell outta coffee cups.”

Sam half-smiled. “On Bobby’s old busted-ass couch?”

“Yeah!” Eye contact, then. “Had to watch how you sat or that one spring’d jab you in the nuts.”

“I remember.”

Dean topped off his glass and stared down through the amber like he’d find an answer there. “Sammy, I—”

“I know.”

“There ain’t no excuse—”

“Hey. Far as I’m concerned,” Sam said, “this is on Crowley.”

Dean shrugged.

Crowley.

Sam got hit with boiling anger, red and possessive. Hadn’t sunk in before; Dean had run. Gallivanted off with the King of Hell, of all wretched creatures.

 _“You can’t stand the fact that he’s mine.”_ Crowley’s smug self-satisfaction curdled Sam’s stomach. Demons told the truth, when it suited them.

No…

No, Dean was Sam’s. Not Dad’s, not Michael’s, and sure in the fuck not Crowley’s.

Sam gambled. “You remember Big Stone Lake?”

Dean’s eyes got big and blushy pink crept up his neck.

First warm week of spring, Dean’s deal bearing down and Sam—well, at the time he’d told himself he’d done it to keep Dean fighting, keep him from giving up. That’d been a lie; Sam had kissed Dean—waist-deep water, moonlight, foam from a dead naiad—because Sam had to keep himself from giving up.

“Yeah,” Dean rasped. “I—”

“You ever regret it?” Sam broke full bratty little brother. Chin out. Challenge.

“Dude, why are you even bringin’ this—”

“Did, you, regret it.”

Dean took a long drink and a deep breath. “No.”

Sam left that hanging, thick in the air. Dean thumbed the lip of his empty glass. Tongue shimmered out and at last:

“We can’t, Sam. I’m afraid I’ll—”

“What. Like it?”

“Hurt you.”

Sam couldn’t stifle an eye-roll. “Not a chance.” He stood up. Drained what was mostly melted ice by then and stalked around. Dean’s chair screeched on the floor when he grabbed it and spun Dean to face him. Sank to his knees between Dean’s legs. Grabbed a fistful of t-shirt. “Stop me, if you don’t want me.”

Lips connected, Dean hesitated. Sam growled, Dean groaned. Nose-to-nose, Dean tangled fingers in Sam’s hair, jerked back.

“Ain’t gonna be like last time, Sammy.”

Sam leaned into the hand behind his head. Exposed his throat.

“You’re in, you’re in for keeps.”

Light bloomed in Sam’s chest.

“Have a hard enough time not stabbing every fucker that looks at you on my best day,” Dean said. “This thing…” Rubbed his forearm.

“Dean, for fuck’s sake.” Sam almost laughed. “It’s you, okay? Always been you. Nobody else—”

Dean kissed him. Jammed his tongue in, smashed Sam’s nose. “My room.” Muffled. “Right fuckin’ now.”

Sam nodded and knocked their foreheads. Found his way to his feet and hauled Dean up. Hands on his ass. More bruising kisses and Sam said, “Lead the way.”

Dean didn’t so much lead Sam down the hall as wrestle him. Groping, mauling, banging each other into the walls. Sam buzzed like a power line, hard in his jeans and more drunk on his brother than the booze. Clothes trailed: Dean’s robe. Sam’s top shirt and one shoe. Tongues sparred. Scratching. Scrabbling. Names and cusswords breathed like mantras. Nipples raked and hair pulled.

They made the corner, crossed the threshold. Sam swept Dean’s legs, gave a shove and bounced him on his precious memory foam. Dean narrow-eyed, tried to sit up but Sam pushed him back, knelt on his lap. Curled down, pinned Dean’s wrists and rocked his hips. Dean sucked air through his teeth. Bucked back, Sam let out a moan and rose to pull his shirt off. Peeled Dean’s pants and boxers down.

Dean squirmed. Kicked and stripped and Sam’s chin dropped. Dean’s cock, curved and blood-dark, jumped with his pulse. Dean smirked. “Like what you see, little brother?”

Sam's head spun. Mouth went dry. And when Dean sat up this time, Sam palmed behind his neck and watched, water-kneed, as Dean undid his belt and button, dragged his zipper down. Thumbnail teased through his shorts and Sam groaned.

Dean nosed in. Breath and stubble on thin cotton. Denim hit the floor, pooled around Sam’s ankles and he forced himself to pull it together, ditch his jeans and socks and single shoe. Dean kept contact, knuckled Sam’s hip, stroked his side, and when he was naked, tripped him. Tipped him sideways to the bed and cupped Sam's jaw, thumbed at his chin. Hesitated, again.

“Sammy I—”

“It’s okay, Dean; I’m not fragile.”

“I know.” Dean ducked Sam's kiss, chewed his lip. “But… Eyes flicked down and to his right. “What if…”

Sam stood. Dean’s go-bag slouched by the door, and if Sam knew his brother—

Just like he thought.

Dean spotted the rope, blew out his cheeks but nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good, Sammy, that’s smart.”

“I trust you.” Sam said.

Dean wormed up the bed. “That makes one of us.” He rapped the headboard. “Good thing this sucker’s sturdy.” Bluster.

Made Sam feel better.

Sweat sprung to his temples as he knelt above his brother. Set the lube he’d found aside and wrapped Dean’s wrist in twisted nylon. Dean watched, tracked as Sam made loops and turns. Tense muscles and wide pupils.

“Test it?” Sam passed Dean the loose end.

Dean tugged, rolled his wrist. Breathy, tight, “It’s good.”

Dean’s head flopped back; eyes fell closed and Sam went at his right wrist. Mark of Cain splashed red and angry, like it’d burn if Sam touched it. Sam stood up. Dean cracked one eye.

“Almost done,” Sam said. Ran more rope underneath Dean’s bed, pulled up the ends and— “Dean, are you sure?”

Tense neck but he nodded. “Just… at least until we know, okay?”

“Yeah.” Sam got that. Took a breath and tied him down. “You comfortable?”

“You fuckin’ with me?” Dean trembled, barely perceptible. Half-limp dick and sweat-slick skin. He squirmed, pulled at the ropes and Sam's insides clenched.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Arms wide, too-long hair tacked to his face. Wet lips, hard brown nipples. Flushed red skin and copper freckles. Sam swallowed.

“Ain’t gettin’ any younger here,” Dean griped.

Sam grinned. Crawled between Dean’s knees and bent to kiss him. Mouth and chin. Jawline. Under his ear and down his neck. Hand wrapped around Dean’s dick and Sam stroked slow. Precome, sweat and Sam trailed past Dean’s collarbone, tongue-traced his ink. Flicked a nipple and Dean bucked.

“Come on, man; what the hell.” Hips stuttered and chest heaved.

Sam wished he could hold Dean there, kiss every inch and tease his brother wild, but he didn’t push. He’d get his chance. “I wanna fuck you, Dean,” he whispered, “but if—”

“Do it.” Gritted teeth.

Sam took a ragged breath, reached for the lube.

Dean bent his knees and spread his feet. Sam smeared slick on his hand and dropped the bottle to the bed. Knuckles grazed Dean’s inner thigh and Dean jumped. Hard again and staring at the ceiling, shallow breathing. Sam palmed Dean’s balls. Lifted. Rubbed a thumb behind and Dean curled up, wide and exposed. Sam petted, traced Dean’s hole and felt the muscles seize. Dean’s dick twitched, stomach creased.

Sam folded. Wrapped his lips around Dean’s head and earned a punched-out groan. He tucked his teeth and let Dean rock into him. Thumbed Dean’s balls and kept his finger wedged between Dean’s cheeks. Sam licked and sucked and flicked. Drew circles, soft-but-steady pressure until Dean split, Sam slid in and Dean moaned, choked and choppy.

Sam bobbed his head and kept Dean hard, kept him distracted. Worked him open, inch by inch and shudder after shudder. Buried fingers in his brother. Dean squirmed, swore and sweated. Sweet-sharp precome on Sam’s tongue, and Sam’s wrist twisted; fingers flexed.

Dean jolted off the bed. Ropes pulled taut. Headboard banged. Sam stroked inside, felt Dean shake around him. Listened to him cuss and pant, until—

“Come on, man, it’s enough,” Dean said. “Don’t wanna blow before the main event.”

Sam gave Dean’s cock one last swirling lick.

“Fuck. I mean it, Sam, I’m—”

Sam pulled out.

Dean hissed.

Sam cleaned his hands on his dirty undershirt, dug a rubber out of Dean’s bag. Turned back. Dean was watching, shoulders off the mattress, neck bent to its limit.

“Magnum?” Sam held up the gold foil wrapper, couldn’t mask his smirk.

“Hey. Only the best for my—Wait, how’d you not know that?”

Flat. “I don’t track your condom preferences, Dean.”

Head flopped back. “Well, you should. Like how I happen to know you like those fancypants Skyn rubbers.”

“They’re not technically rubber—” Sam blinked. Burst of affection clogged his throat.

“Quit stallin’,” Dean said.

Sam got back between his brother’s legs, and Dean got quiet. Sam rolled on the condom, poured more lube and hooked Dean’s knee, pushed up. Dean breathed, deep and deliberate. Sam slicked up his dick and spread the rest around and in Dean’s hole.

“Fuck, Sam.” Dean flexed and gripped.

Sam lined up. Dry mouth, pounding pulse. He pressed. Dean rolled, opened for him. Sam’s head slid inside.

Dean gritted a moan. “Don’t stop,” through clenched teeth.

Sam couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. Dean half pulled him in, and Sam used all his patience not to shove home all at once. Scalding, squeezing, Sam saw spots and when their hips connected Sam pitched forward. Kissed his brother’s sternum and looked up.

Sweat. Tight-rippled muscles. Head thrown back. Dean’s fists knuckle-white around the ropes.

“You okay?” Sam breathed.

“Yeah, Sam, it’s—” Shudder rocked him. “Holy shit.”

Sam shook with him. He wouldn’t last. Not with Dean spread out like this, exposed and quaking underneath. Sam rose, fine-tuned his position. Drew back. Slow and shallow thrusts. Dean ran his mouth and writhed against him. _Sammy. Little brother. Fuck._ And more Sam couldn’t follow. Sam worked angles, searched for that sweet spot that drove Dean crazy last time, years and deaths and Hells ago.

And all at once Dean locked up, jerked his bonds and made the headboard rattle. Sam took him in hand and rubbed his thumb behind Dean’s cockhead. Dean roared, shot on his belly and clamped tight, dragged Sam right behind. Sam fought on, slammed in, over and over. Dean bucked, kicked and twisted and finally, Sam crashed on him.

Hearts thumped together.

Dick slipped out.

Come and clean sweat tickled his nose.

Breath slowed.

Sam hauled to his feet. Picked Dean’s third-favorite knife up from its spot above the bed.

“Hey, that’s good rope!” Dean found the wherewithal to bitch.

“I’ll buy you more,” Sam said and cut him free.

Dean helped him pick the knots loose from his wrists.

“You-uh,” Sam massaged the reddened skin, “think you’ll need this again?”

“I dunno.” Dean shook his head and tucked his arm against his ribs.

“So we play it by ear.” Sam kissed him then, and, “Wanna join me in the shower?”

“No funny business.” Feeble grin.

“Scout’s honor,” Sam promised. “Come on.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean said. “Okay.”


End file.
